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Meeting between Stormborn and Conclave of the Gods
Vivian Tatiania only briefly scanned the island before landing. She had seen some small amount of smoke but it hardly seemed enough to create concern. Setting down she immediately got to work. She had come out here to the edge of their explored land to test a theory concerning the message bubbles. She suppositioned that if she were to increase the sound density of the message that it might increase the time it would take for the message's internal vibrancy to dissipate. The time she spent working seemed like a blur, sh was so enraptured that all else seemed as blurred images. She was just in the process of creating an air bubble when a noise behind her startled her into turning around. Vivian turns around. On a nearby hillside covered in pine needles and melting snow, a young man stands, watching her. He waves cheerfully when he notices that she's seen him, and begins plodding toward her, throwing his scarf over his shoulder. She notices that he's holding something--a little ball made of rags tied together with twine. Vivian had been worried before, but as soon as she sees this man, she feels a warm feeling inside of her, the kind of feeling that made her feel that everything was going to be alright. "Hello," she called pleasantly, "you seem to have a very distracting affect on me. You see I was just trying to figure out the right resonance that would allow me to overcome the bubble's natural sound." "That sounds like a great use of your time," Samin says. For some reason, Vivian's heart soars upon hearing these words. "Come on," he says, "I'll take you to meet my friends." The two of them hike over a bunch of hills and snowed-over roads. Nestled in a clearing of tree stumps is a cozy and rather large lodge, the only sign of life in all this disrepair. The exterior of the lodge is surrounded by crates overflowing with wool cloth, various jars of preserved food, and building supplies. A cheerful blue add-on to the lodge exclaims some unknown phrase in bright foreign letters. There is a giant, poorly-painted wooden molar cutout capping this section of the building. Samin leads her inside, where, beside a roaring hearth, two men sit in comfortable-looking chairs. "--so anyway," the older one wheezes. "God of Thursdays. A real shitter, he was. Every Wednesday around midnight he'd be there making faces in my window. So one time, I got this big old snake--" The conversation halts when they notice the newcomer in the room. Vivian stares at them awkwardly. She had the strangest feeling--suddenly, for no reason at all, she felt completely ill. She feels something hit her head. The stormborn looks up, slowly. The tiny raincloud above her head has started to inexplicably rain small, round marbles of different sizes and colors. The men in the house are rising from her chairs quickly, shouting and looking worried. She can barely make out the words. "--you idiot--" "--a magical creature--in here--" Without realizing it, she slips comfortably into unconsciousness. "Samin," Rega says, "You need to lift your end higher." The two of them have wrapped the unconscious Stormborn in a cheap carpet and are carrying her through the woods towards the dock. Crickets chirp and a night owl hoots in the darkness. "I thought she was just a wizard, not some kind of magic... fairy!" Samin says. Magic behaved confusingly when there were a lot of gods around. And to predominantly arcane creatures, like Stormborn, being around gods could be fantastically bad for their health. The two of them reach the south dock of Remora, staring at a swan boat that lies some distance below them in the cold, black, water. "Alright," Rega says. "So here's the plan." "I'm confident already that this is going to be a good plan." Rega smiles. "Thank y--" His heart sinks. Goddamnit. "You know, Samin, why don't you wait until you hear the plan before you state your feelings on it. In fact, better yet, let's just carry my plan out and walk silently back to the lodge afterwards." "Sounds good, friend." "Right," Rega says, hoisting the girl's legs. "Get ready, we're going to heave her onto that boat. I've taped a nice apology letter to her shirt." The great thing about being a god was that your words transcended mortal language barriers. "Wait, shouldn't we leave some food in the boat we're sending her back in?" "Oh, shit, yeah." "Oh, and maybe like some wool and stuff. You know, to show that this has all been a huge, friendly misunderstanding." They spend fifteen minutes loading the swan boat with food and carefully picked items--the best that Commera's charity program had to offer. "Alright, now let's toss her in," Rega says, his breath misting in the night air. A bit over-zealously, Samin heaves the girl head over-shoulders off the dock and into the boat. She lands with a loud crack. "Samin, dammit, now we need to check to see if she's hurt." "I'm sure she's fine." Rega hops down into the swan boat, his left foot banging on the side. There is barely enough room for the girl in here. He unwraps a section of the carpet to get a look at her head. Samin can't see Rega very well, but he can hear the boat sloshing around in the darkness. "Is she okay?" he calls down. "Yeah, her teeth all look fine." With that, Rega undoes the ropes, kicks the boat away from the dock with one foot, and jumps into the cold water to swim back to the ladder. The letter: "Dear fairies, Greetings from the Island of Remora! We are sorry, but we have accidentally hurt your emissary, and we've sent her back so your men of science can treat her condition, as we have no idea how. We'd love to trade with you guys while you're at it, although, be warned, exposure to our people seems to be dangerous for your kind. Leave any tradeable goods on the dock on the northern island, and we can send ships loaded with our goods every Wednesday. Have a good time of it, Rega Darail" The next day tradable goods are found on the dock with this reply: "Dear Island of Remora, we are gladdened that you are able and willing to trade with us. We believe the only damaged imparted on our member was a mild concussion which she has found to be very fascinating. We are known as the Stormborn. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. While this may prove to be a temporary form of communication, there are certain members of us who would be interested in more face to face conversations. They would like to take all due caution of course. We would hope you would consider it. -The Songbirds" Category:Nationbuilder VII Trade Meetings